


In From The Cold

by Ononymous



Series: Christmas 2018 Stories and Requests [12]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Undertale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 20:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17311457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ononymous/pseuds/Ononymous
Summary: Running an errand for the King of Monsters, Prince Asgore encounters two attempted gatecrashers, one of whom changes his life. And her own.





	In From The Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Original Request: Asgore and Toriel meeting for the first time.

The hall was full of hustle and bustle as the sun shone down on the feast. Cats and bunnies were routinely swapping out empty platters for ones laden with food. The seated monsters - and a few uncomfortable humans - ate heartily. Laughter and gossip and the occasional scolding filled the air. The guards by the walls and doors couldn't help but pant at the aroma flooding their noses. The head of the table had, among others the three hosts of the party, one of whom was surreptitiously adjusting her headdress, currently irritating her horns. Sipping her wine, she looked to her right, to the largest monster in the room, whose horns had cultivated an elegant spiral that could never be hidden even if he wanted to, all contrasted with an almost dainty looking crown.

"Honestly Aslaud," she said, purple eyes surveying him, "there was no need to go to all this trouble."

"But there was a very important need, Belegore," he retorted, playing with the long golden goatee planted at the base of his furry chin, "the need to celebrate the birthday of the most graceful queen in the land's history."

"Oh, you know just what to say, dear. And not just because the silver in your hair suits you."

They shared a public nuzzle, not caring who saw. To King Aslaud's right sat a third horned monster, though his had yet to reach their full potential, reservedly sipping his own wine and chatting with the friend seated to his own right.

"What about that one?"

"Pshaw," said the turtle, "too much hair."

"Alright. Is that one to your tastes?"

"Too much hair."

"And her?"

"Too much-"

"-hair," finished the Prince. "Honestly, Gerson, you probably think the humans have too much hair, and it's mostly on their heads."

"An' that's the worst place it could be, Asgore! You fuzzies just don't get the appeal of no hair or fur whatsoever."

"Oh," said Asgore. "But, um, what about that tuft of black hair on your chin? Trying to copy my father?"

"Nah. Had this when his horns were buddin'. He copied me! Wa ha ha!"

"Hee hee hee." Asgore's laughs were suppressed in case his father queried the source. "Well I promise you friend, I shall not copy you. If I opt for a beard, it will be my own style."

Gerson patted him on the back in gratitude. "Hmm... reckon ya got the chin for something a bit fuller, Kiddo. Go for it!"

The muzzle of his mother leaned over the table in his direction. "Asgore, could you make sure the arrangements for tomorrow's inspection of the troops are complete?"

"Of course, Mother. But please, do not concern yourself with such affairs today."

"Someone has to, my son. Otherwise the King would spend all his time writing down the positions of stars."

"Now now Bele," said Aslaud, "even royalty needs a pastime. And the position of Jupiter was aligned with Sirius in a rare and portentous angle-"

"Matters best left to the court astrologer, dear," she said, not unkindly, "but then your interest in charting the heavens is why you have those flights of fancy I admire." She met his orange eyes briefly before returning to her son's. "Go on. I am sure Gerson can save you something from the next course."

"Yes, Mother."

Asgore got to not-quite-his-father's height and walked along the table. Almost everyone from tiny froggits to wary humans to a silver-maned and scarred boss monster tried to accost him, but his parents had successfully drilled standard evasion manoeuvres for such an event. They were more intricate than anything he did while sparring.

* * *

The hall was not the only location of revelry. As Asgore crossed the courtyard it was crowded with townsfolk making good on the King's invitation to celebrate with the Royal family. There was quite the broader selection of monsters, though fewer humans, and compared to all the horns back inside there were few other boss monsters. All the old families liked to mingle with each other anyway. They were never hostile or rude, but to Asgore it felt a little constrictive. Even in the middle of this crowd he felt more at ease. Eventually he fought his way through the crowd to the barracks by the castle wall, and as expected found a boss monster looking not much older than himself with a wild firey bush of hair and stocky horns flanking his head rather than topping it, writing at a desk.

"General Guerrehalts?"

He looked up. "Prince Asgore. I've told you before, you're of age now. Call me Dovah."

"Oh. Okay, Dovah." He chuckled. "Golly, it's strange being so informal with you!"

"A habit the best kings pick up," counselled Dovah. "How can I help you?"

"The troop inspection. All is in order?"

"Impeccably, Sire." He grabbed some papers. "Your father's armour has been repaired, and your own is ready if you'd like to try it on."

"Tomorrow, perhaps."

"Also the soldiers have been mustered and are encamped beyond the moat. A few orders and the two of you will look the part tomorrow."

"Splendid, Gen- I mean Dovah."

Blue eyes pierced him. "Your tone disagrees."

"Oh, well, I was just thinking on the way here. All those troops in rough tents with standard rations, while a celebration goes on in earshot... General, I would like you to offer an invitation to the men to join the courtyard festivities today. They have earned that much."

General Guerrehalts looked like he didn't think much of this request. Until he beamed. "That's your dad talking, Asgore. Thinking of others, probably more than you should, but still."

"Oh, speaking of, don't let Mother know, she would have me banished."

"She just respects the procedures, highness. No bad thing, in moderation. But no, not a peep, sir. Anything else?"

Asgore looked away briefly. "Well, since we're on less formal terms now, I was curious. Do you ever plan to raise a family of your own?"

Dovah shrugged. "Fought for and guarded four generations of the House of Dreemurr. Maybe after the fifth has come and gone. Definitely in no hurry."

"Now that, I can appreciate." They swapped salutes. "General."

Asgore felt energised as he rejoined the crowd. The excellent mood bolstered his spirits as he hoped Gerson did indeed save some of that snail pie he had finagled onto the menu. Mouth watering at the prospect, it was a moment before he noticed a commotion at the other of the courtyard.

"I told you, we're part of the Ellhocnarc family, let us through to the feast!

"Sir", said a guard, "the Ellhocnarcs arrived hours ago, and the feast is well underway. Please move along."

"This is outrageous! When King Asnaud hears we were harassed like this-"

"You mean Aslaud?"

The one who'd been arguing with the guard spun round. Another boss monster, equal to Asgore in height, with copper-red eyes, completely vertical horns and the uncommon trait of no secondary hair at all, even though lines around his eyes betrayed his age. His expression was a mixture of fear and hope.

"Told you he'd died, Papa."

Both men turned to the new speaker, a vexed-sounding woman, more or less Asgore's age, with eyes that matched her father's. Even though both were dressed in finery, the woman carried a ragged looking satchel. Those inherited eyes surveyed Asgore like her father had, but with far more curiosity than anything else.

"Couldn't talk a froggit into a pond, you," she sniped at her father.

"It's just a minor setback, sweetie. Look, Sire, there's been a misunderstanding."

"Everything fine?" All three boss monsters turned to find a fourth approaching them.

"General Guerrehalts!" cried the so-called Ellhocnarc man. "Been too long. Zenmas Ellhocnarc, distant cousin of Moroviel, and this is my daughter Toriel-"

"Nope," said Dovah, "imposters."

"How do you know?" The question escaped Asgore's mouth before anyone realised. Toriel smirked at him.

"Their clothes. Really fine, expensive, made just for them, really fashionable. And brand new. Real old boss monster families just keep old clothes round until they fall apart, and wouldn't wear brand new to the castle unless it meant going naked. They aren't the first, Prince Asgore."

"But we **are** an old family-"

"I told him that," said Toriel, "but did the fool listen? _Nooooooo._ All he thought it would take was a couple of fancy name drops! Might've put bread on the table with all the planning he didn't do."

Zenmas looked dejected. "Tori, sweetie..."

"Don't 'Tori' me, Papa! And you," she suddenly rounded on Asgore, "you're heir to the throne, right? At least act like you're interested in all this or move on. There's no need for a gormless look like that. Your nobility can vanish like that, don't think it's always there."

"Hmm? Oh! I am sorry, Miss... it is 'Toriel', correct?"

She nodded curtly. "'No need to fake our first names', he said. Honestly..."

"Well folks," said Dovah, enjoying the spectacle, "are you going to move along or shall we have to put the dungeon in use?"

"Please no!" cried Zenmas. "We just need to speak to the King. We have a proposal for trade agreements we think he'd be interested in. We'd never get the time of day, otherwise."

"Well as you might imagine, the King is a little busy right now," said Dovah. "It's the Queen's Birthday-"

"I _told_ you that's what it was for!"

"-so even if he was interested he has no time. Last chance before I call a few guards to-"

"Son? Is everything alright?"

A fifth boss monster joined the argument, spiraled horns drawing everyone's eye as the King stepped into the yard.

"Aslaud," begged Zenmas as he tried for a charming fourth time, "Greetings and Salutations, it's me! Well, you probably don't remember, I was only a baby really, and you weren't much older, but I've something to show you, look-"

"Papa, don't-"

Zenmas plunged his arm into the satchel Toriel carried. Asgore found himself shoved back as Dovah's honed military instincts took over, fully seizing Zenmas to stop him withdrawing whatever weapon may have been stashed there, and pinning him to the wall. There was a sound of desperate bleating, then a gasp, as Zenmas' head rolled onto his shoulders.

"Papa!"

"Good gracious," cried Aslaud, "is he alright?"

"Yeah," said Dovah, "fainted. Prince Asgore?"

"I'm alright."

"Thank goodness," said the king. "Guard, take this man to one of the spare bedrooms and put a watch on him until he wakes up."

"Arf!" Two other guards came over to take Zenmas off Dovah's hands.

"As for you, young lady," said Dovah, "I'm sure you're aware we have some questions."

Toriel had the air of a weary Cassandra about her, an expression utterly new to Asgore, but she didn't resist. "Yes, I won't do anything stupid."

"Good girl."

"Father," said Asgore, "may I accompany General Guerrehalts to this questioning?"

"Hmm? Why?"

"Oh, well... I should learn about how such incidents are handled, shouldn't I?"

"Your call, Prince," said Dovah, "follow us."

* * *

To Asgore's mild surprise, they did not wind up in the dungeons or the barracks. Instead the three boss monsters sat around a table in the kitchens, the contents of the satchel turned out on it, revealing a potted plant with delicate leaves and a porcelain urn with writing unknown to both men, filled with dried leaves, and sheets of parchment with diagrams and notes on the plant, both in foreign tongue and local. As neither of these were immediately dangerous, Dovah got down to business.

"Name, child?"

"Toriel."

"In full."

"Toriel Lincteamer."

Dovah's interrogation stopped. The surname stirred something in Asgore's memories of studies too.

"...anything to Aurion Lincteamer?"

"...he was my grandfather."

"Hmm. So he did do right by her. Heh heh, guess that makes me the oldest now!"

"Yes," said Toriel, her face unamused, "congratulations."

"I'm sorry," said Asgore, "who was Aurion?"

"Only boss monster older than me, Asgore, and he had the money to back it up."

"My father always told me," offered Toriel, "that God gave us as much time as we chose to pursue our interests in this world."

"That he did, ma'am. And even for us, when we have time and patience on our side to get it, Orry was the richest goat this side of Persia. Coulda bought the crown off King Asnaud if he pleased, but power wasn't his thing. Peculiar way he made his money, though."

"I wouldn't call it 'peculiar'," Toriel defended, "humans need bread on their tables as much as we do, why not trade with them or invest in their projects?"

"You're not wrong Miss Toriel, but the sheer volume-"

"Was what alienated him from the other families. They couldn't see how we could benefit from interacting with humans more-"

"Um," interjected Asgore, "wasn't there a scandal with Aurion and the Ellhocnarc family? About how during a feast he drank too much and-"

Toriel slammed her hand on the table. "He loved her! So what if my father was unexpected, he did right by both of them, as you said!"

"I'm sure he did, Orry was always good at that," said Dovah. "But the Ellhocnarcs are traditional. To them, nobody should let the sand start pouring in the hourglass until the time is right. They thought he robbed her of her potential. And Asnaud, nice as he was, listened to the Ellhocnarcs, so Orry was _monstera non grata_ in high society."

"But he still had his money," said Toriel, "as my father has told me countless times."

"'Had'?" asked Asgore.

"Sharp ears, Sire. Hmm, you know, Aurion's mother had a lovely dress, would have fit you well. Curious it's not in your father's possession any more. Hard times?"

"...a single hard time."

"So the rumours were true?"

"Yes. A shot at being part of glory, not unlike Papa today. I suppose when your own sand is fleeing the hourglass such things weigh more heavily on you. Like father like son, it seems. The humans were organising another one of those silly crusades. Honestly, in trade and culture they are fascinating, but when they take up arms they are unpredictable and dangerous."

"Orry financed it?"

"In part. It was a quest to reclaim Egypt."

"Well that wasn't happening without all of Europe behind them," said Dovah. "Glory hounds rarely see the obstacles in their way, just the end goal."

"Hmm," she agreed. "Anyway, after they set out with much of Grandpa's treasury in tow, they got roped into being glorified mercenaries for the Emperor in Constantinople, their erstwhile ally."

"Oh golly," said Asgore, dots connecting, "that was the debacle where..."

"Yes. On Papa's fourth birthday, the crusaders sacked the city, and conquered much of the empire. Well you know how the empire is today, a stiff breeze will likely finish it soon, but it was respectably strong back then, and my Grandfather's wealth came from trade connections he'd made in its cities. Connections now put to the sword. And that, Sir Guerrehalts, is why polite society ceased to hear of him. Or us. Grandpa financed his own ruin."

Toriel had sat upright in her chair as she concluded the story. The events clearly held exasperation for her, and yet for being functionally ex-nobility there was no chip on her shoulder.

"That was over two centuries ago, Miss Toriel," said Asgore, "your father never rebuilt a fortune?"

"He tried. But Grandpa had built his own so long ago how he had amassed it didn't work anymore, things were too different. He'd little knowledge to bequeath to us. We get by, I've never starved and Papa does care for me. But like father like son, I guess. He never forgot his birthright."

"And... neither did you?" asked Asgore.

Toriel shrugged. "Was never my birthright. It's a bedtime story to me. It slipped through his fingers long before I could lament its loss. Took an important lesson from it though."

"What's that?"

"Whatever you do, do it properly. I mean, did you see Papa today? Making both of us look like idiots for the longest of long shots, when had he actually listened to me and presented these formally, we might have gotten somewhere. But the skills to navigate a royal court don't translate to keeping a belly full by your own toil. I bet most've you would have floundered just as hard as Grandpa did."

At last genuine resentment appeared, but it was not born of envy for what the residents of the castle had that she did not. Asgore could tell it was resentment at the idea they took it all for granted. It lodged in his brain and wouldn't let go.

"...you're probably right."

Both Toriel and Dovah stared at him. "Prince Asgore?"

"Well the story made me think, is all. If another denied me the throne, what would I do? Should Father command I run a farm and live off its produce, I would starve. It makes me feel... incomplete."

Toriel smirked at him again, though her earlier default contempt softened somewhat. "Well your highness," she teased, "if wheat is beyond your skill, why not try tending to flowers?"

Asgore missed the jest. "Hmm, perhaps I should..."

"Perhaps later, Asgore," said Dovah, "one more question, ma'am. What were you trying to show the king?"

Toriel picked up the urn. "This is Aurion's last hope. See, in the last years of his life he met an Italian merchant returning from travels on the Silk Road, and Papa was there to hear of the wondrous things the kingdoms beyond India had. It took him all this time to procure just these samples."

"And what is it?"

To demonstrate, she stood up, slowly took a cup from near the fire, and filled it with water from the well. Both men watched the cup glow as she heated the water, and soon steam rose from it. Placing the cup on the table, she took a matching porcelain spoon from the urn and put a small heap of the herbs into the cup, stirring gently.

"Those kingdoms drink this brew, see?" She took the first sip to dispel the idea of it being poison. "They call it something not unlike 'Tea'. Would you gentlemen like to try some?"

Both men accepted. Dovah's face was neutral. "Hmm, not much kick. Think I prefer a nice wine."

"I like it," said Asgore, returning for a much larger gulp. "Most refreshing."

Toriel's eyes flashed with interest. "The plant is were the leaves come from. Papa thought if the King could trade with those distant lands it would bring him money and prestige and influence."

"And you, Toriel?" asked Asgore.

"I figured we should grow it ourselves, sell it ourselves and hire magical labourers to tend to our farm. But if the Prince likes it, I guess it's a gift to the Prince whether we like it or not."

"The Prince does not approve of that," said the Prince, "the Pr- me- I- I'll talk to my father, persuade him to give you a fair price."

"Sure you want to stick your neck out, Asgore?" warned Dovah. "Don't want to _leaf_ it alone?"

The weight of the question pressed on them. Then Toriel snorted, and Dovah burst out laughing.

"At last! The Dreemurrs are great and all, but you really need a sense of humour! This girl's got it!"

Asgore smiled politely, looking at how Toriel's face lit up when she laughed. Perhaps a bard could tutor him in comedy? Before things got any further however, there was a knock on the door.

"Arf!"

"Ah," said Dovah, "sounds like your father's awake. I think you can smooth things over with Aslaud better than he could, child, so come with us."

* * *

And Toriel did smooth things over, sometimes with Asgore's unasked-for help. The purchase of the tea leaves and the plant were arranged, and Toriel was hired to help set up an allotment to cultivate them, and Asgore volunteered to take official Royal control, something Toriel didn't object to. The would-be intruders left, Zenmas feeling vaguely satisfied about things, and once the feast had wrapped up and Asgore had retired for the evening, the King and Queen spoke with their General on important matters.

"He's interested," said Dovah, "no doubt. You'd have to be blind to miss it."

"And what are your thoughts, Dovah? Should we dissuade this?"

Dovah shook his head. "Knew her Grandfather, as you know. If the Lincteamers stayed in monster society, she'd probably be really haughty, just as she accuses. At my age you've seen it all. But humble origins have tempered that. Got him to think about things other than ruling, and that's healthy for any King."

"I see," said Aslaud. "But still, they run a mere farm?"

"Oh Laudy," said Belegore, "even if her pedigree wasn't impeccable you think that matters?"

"Well, my father always told me..." the king sighed. "You're right, Bele. Perhaps I should look beyond my own assumptions too. She is slightly rough around the edges, however. Not much decorum."

"Oh, those can be polished, dear. Mine were after all."

"Leaping to conclusions a little, Aslaud? They did just meet."

The long goatee was stroked. "Hmm, perhaps. But still, if it blossoms, it's not the worst choice he could have made."

"She could have made, more like," said the Queen. "If she makes the first move I wouldn't be surprised. Gorey's always been really respectful of boundaries."

And so, through a few years of regular contact while cultivating tea, the relationship between Toriel and Asgore grew warmer and warmer and more affectionate, until one day Asgore, egged on by Gerson, summoned the courage to ask her out. The date went well, and the very next day he revealed the relationship to his parents and received their instant blessing. As romance was reinforced with the more platonic love critical for such partnerships to survive, Asgore, again egged on by Gerson, proposed to her, and they married a year and a day later, ready to lead the Monster Kingdom as King and Queen, into and through the literally darkest era of monster history, and guide them back to the sun at the other side, and perhaps, eventually, even back to each other.

Actually that first part is not true. The very next time they were alone they started kissing each other madly, and still received the King's instant blessing later that week, all without Gerson's prompting or even knowledge. She who hesitates is lost.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want a longer and more in-depth fic for this premise, I have to recommend [_The Fireball in Jarasevo_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14887965/chapters/34478919) by Congar.
> 
> Let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!


End file.
